


In Tribute

by The_Kinky_Pet



Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, marvel ambiguous fandom
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alpha Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Concubine, Concubine AU, Cultural Difference, Cultural Misunderstandings, First Time, M/M, Misunderstandings, Omega Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sex Work, Virgin Steve Rogers, internalized slut shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-19 12:39:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14237502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Kinky_Pet/pseuds/The_Kinky_Pet
Summary: Tony Stark is an Alpha and Crown Prince of Manottan.Steven--son of Roger, son of Grant--is a sickly omega and a nobody, even in his home of Brooklyne castle.  He just wants to serve his country.Things kind of go from there.





	1. To serve my country

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sabrecmc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrecmc/gifts).



> This story contains no direct depictions of rape, major character death, graphic violence or underage sex. 
> 
> That said, there are some things that some people might like warning about. If you would like warnings (even with spoilers) please put this into rot13.com : Ryrzragf bs qhopba: Fgrir unf ceboyrzf jvgu vagreanyvmrq fyhg funzvat naq unf frk jvgu Gbal sbe gur jebat ernfbaf; Gbal qbrfa'g ernyvmr guvf naq unf frk jvgu uvz. Nyfb, fbzr noyrvfz fcrpvsvpnyyl eryngrq gb sregvyvgl naq certanapl. Nyfb funzvat frk jbexref. If you have triggers or sensitivities, please consult the warnings! 
> 
> I've made Steve from fictional Ireland / Brooklyn again, but this is unrelated to "Dragonslayer."
> 
> Like all fan fiction, this story is a gift that I'm giving the community for free; if you don't like it, please hit the back button instead of criticizing it (or worse *me*) and sending messages about what you don't like to my inbox. Please don't crush my will to write and share my writing publicly. Thank you for your kindness and consideration.

"You didn't really expect it to work, did you?"

Steve said nothing.

"With your build--even masking your scent and wearing that ridiculous outfit--you must have known we'd realize."

Colonel Phillips sighed when Steve remained mulishly silent.

"Steven, we know you," Phillips added, flopping back in his chair and reaching for a brass goblet. He filled it to the brim with wine and took a long sip. "Not exactly low profile, are you? And this is what, your third attempt to enlist?"

Steve tried not to grimace. He resisted the urge to rub his cheek; it still sported the purple evidence of his last skirmish with some bullying beta.

"Why do you want to be a soldier anyway?" Phillips asked.

"I just want to serve my country," Steve said, looking up in defiance. 

"Plenty of ways to serve," Phillips said. "Or do you think being a soldier's the only way that matters? What--farmers, weavers, dairy maids beneath you?"

"No, sir," Steve ground out. (You don't understand . . .) He couldn't resist adding, "You're not a farmer either, sir."

Phillips snorted. "No, but I'm fit to serve as I do." His mouth formed something almost like a smile as he added, "And I kill every plant I touch."

"I've never seen anything like it," Phillips said, shaking his head. "Attractive little omega like you hell bent on carrying a shield." He squinted at Steve and his voice went a little soft. "Is this about Barnes? He fell defending the North Coast and you want revenge?"

It hurt. Even after two years, it hurt to hear Bucky’s death mentioned so casually.

"I'd be honored to help defend the North Coast against raiders," Steve said stiffly.

"Revenge for your alpha?"

"He wasn’t my alpha," Steve snapped, then added, "sir.” Steve took a deep breath. “I'd be honored to serve where he did."

"Barnes really wasn't your alpha?" He sounded surprised and something speculative came into his eyes. He went to one of the guards by the entrance and said something in a low voice, then closed the door and took a seat again. He poured a second goblet of wine and placed it in front of Steve. 

"You really want to serve your country, huh?"

"More than anything, sir," Steve said. He drew his thin shoulders back and sat up as tall as he could (which wasn't very tall at all.)

"Well then," Phillips said, he raised his glass. "To Eire."

"To Eire!" Steve echoed and took a sip. He was afraid to hope.

"So," Phillips said musingly. "You've grown up in Brookline Castle--you've heard some of the threats facing Eire. Raiders attacking the North Coast. And we lost a lot of men to the recent famine, to the troubles. Helping Queensland beat back Hydra cost us dearly." 

"To be blunt," Philips said, "We're low on funds. Low on soldiers. Low on allies."

"All the more reason to let me serve, sir," Steve said. His heart was pounding in his chest. (Could this really be happening?)

"You're smart, kid," Phillips said, then added with a grimace. "Apart from the disguise attempts, that is." He took a long sip of wine. "You're bright. Determined. Patriotic. I might be able to give you a chance."

Steve nodded eagerly and leaned forward. "That's all I want, sir."

"We're sending an ambassador and entourage to Manottan next week," Phillips continued. "We're hoping to establish an alliance and treat for some Stark weapons to defend Eire. Ideally, we might even be able to leave a small embassy."

(An embassy guard? Seems too . . . high profile for someone like me.)

"The arrangements are already under way and, of course, we'll bring gifts for the Stark family: King Howard, Queen Maria, and their son, Crown Prince Anthony."

Phillips paused. Steve waited for him to continue. After waiting a while, Phillips sighed (looking disappointed?) and continued:

"The Starks are a rich dynasty and their kingdom prosperous. With our coffers so badly depleted, we're unlikely to impress them with the gifts we're able to provide, but ritual gift giving is an essential part of any successful treaty. We don't dare give offense by arriving with underwhelming . . . gifts."

Steve sat blankly, waiting for Phillips to continue; Phillips eyes flicked up and down Steve's body.

Steve recoiled, eyes wide; he leapt to this feet. 

His mouth twisted as he spat, "You'd whore me out?"

Phillips sighed again and shook his head, tutting softly, "Such an ugly word."

"I'd be a gift, like a pretty bauble," Steve growled, slamming the goblet down. Wine sloshed over the rim, splashing across the table and staining the nearby papers red. "A sex slave."

"Don't be so dramatic," Phillips said with a little huff. "There's no slavery in Manottan any more than in Eire. Not for centuries. And the royal concubines of Manottan are held in high esteem."

"A pretty word for 'whore' changes nothing," Steve hissed.

"You'd best not be caught speaking like that in Manottan," Phillips said sharply. "They would take it very ill." 

Steve glared at the desk, nearly trembling with outrage. 

"Very well, Steven," Phillips said. "I thought this opportunity to serve your country might be of interest, but if this is how you feel, so be it. I won't trouble you with further details. I'm sure we'll manage to scrape together an appropriate set of gifts somehow." 

Steve's eyes narrowed. It was clear what Phillips was doing; he hated that it was working anyway.

"What kind of gifts," Steve asked half against his will.

Phillips shrugged. "The Queen is already planning to send Queen Maria her new jewels, those recovered in the south Hoard finding. And of course there's the gold we have in store against future bread shortages. A gamble, but probably worth it for the added protection against Hydra and the North raiders."

Steve swallowed. He remembered the famine, though he'd been young. 

In the end, Good Queen Peg had sold her jewels to the Itani in return for grain; many had still starved to death and most of the kingdom remembered the long gnawing feeling of not enough food, too long without a full belly until their harvests recovered.

( The gold set against grain famine was important; they couldn't really afford to lose it.)

There was a knock on the door and General Fury entered like a great shadow.

"Your page said you'd found someone," Fury said in a deep growling voice.

Phillips shook his head. "I was mistaken." He turned back to Steve. "That's all, Steven," Phillips said. "You may go."

Steve swallowed harshly, eyes prickling. He sat down.

(Would it be so terrible? There was nothing--no one--left for him here . . .)

"I . . . I'd like to hear the details please," Steve said in a rough voice, looking between the two men. "You said there was more."

"I hardly think you're the right candidate for this," Phillips said, "since the thought fills you with such revulsion. I misunderstood your willingness to serve your country."

Phillips' barb found its mark. (Damn it.)

"I was startled, sir," Steve said stiffly. "I'd like more information please. If I may." 

"Very well," Phillips said after a long pause, glancing over at Fury. 

Steve knew that Phillips was playing him like a fiddle, but it was still working and he resented it all the more. 

"Omegas are rare in Manottan, more so than here in Eire," Phillips said. "But desirable, especially the, uh, uninitiated."

Steve held in a snort. (Virgins.)

Phillips tilted his head. "Are you . . .?"

Steve wanted to smack him for asking and snap, 'none of your business,' but he'd asked for more details and it was clearly relevant. 

Cheeks flaming, Steve gave a little nod. Fury and Phillips both looked pleased. 

"The Stark's Prince Anthony is an alpha, as yet unwed so there's no risk we offend his spouse by sending you," Phillips went on, then added awkwardly, "Uh…. he's rumored to be quite handsome."

Steve nearly rolled his eyes. As if that mattered under the circumstances. He'd be lying back and thinking of Eire either way...

"An untouched young omega is by any standard a princely gift," Fury said, pulling out a chair and straddling it indecorously. "That's good, sure. Important. We need someone with the brains to stay on the prince's good side, to keep him favorably disposed towards our little nation and her interests."

Steve kept his face blank. (More whoring. Service their prince and be good at it too.)

Fury continued: "But we also need someone who can . . . observe . . . the Stark Court. Discreetly. And keep us informed."

Steve blinked with surprise. 

"A spy," Steve said, interest piqued. "You need a spy."

Fury shrugged. "Call it what you will."

Phillips cut in. "There have been strange happenings at the Stark court. Rumors of an assassination attempt. And stranger still, a ship of Norns claimed that they'd met with Afani bandits armed with Stark steel." 

"Impossible," Steve breathed. 

"It should be," Phillips agreed.

"Something is afoot in Manottan," Fury said. "We need this treaty to go well. Need them to be our allies; but we also need to know what's happening to keep one step ahead. So, this isn't a job for a dewy eyed little O; we need someone with grit and brains. A patriot. Someone who wants to serve their country. Only question is, is that person you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler Alert: That person is Steve. :)
> 
> I hope you liked this! It may become a series someday, but for now it's porn and angst just for fun. 
> 
> If you enjoy this, do consider letting me know... Comments are cherished, adored, and feed the muse!
> 
> (p.s. I promise P&P is still in progress!)


	2. arrival

Steve’s feet were already tired. He’d been standing at the back of the Eirish retinue for what felt like ages as every member of the envoy was introduced by their full titles and lineages. People--people other than Steve, that is--seemed to have an awful lot of names.

And then they had to announce the gifts, each one carried separately to make the gift giving seem more luxurious than it was. 

(Can’t just toss all the gems in a coffer and call it a day.)

Each gift got some illustrious description. 

“A precious amulet, forged of moon silver and set with delphine crystals, worn by Cerinda the Just a century ago at her coronation and a living symbol of her values!”

“The serpent torque of King Eofar the Magnanimous, with eyes of emerald and body of gold; it slept like a wyrm in the earth, watching the land of Eire from the depths. May your rule be as strong and long-lived as the oak that grew where this treasure slept!”

As the herald continued to describe the gifts one by one as if torn between hawking them at auction and starting a great mythology with them, Steve got more and more anxious about joining the illustrious catalogue. 

What could they possibly say about him?

_ “A young omega concubine, still a virgin, of no lineage, but willing to bend over for the royal knot!” _

_ “An unsullied omega of neither name nor rank, but ready to be despoiled, here for the prince’s use!” _

The thought made his guts roil and his mouth twist with bitter amusement. 

But as he began to compose a third description in his head, the reception line pressed forward enough that at last Steve had a clear view of the royal dias, unobstructed by everyone taller than him.

King Howard was a striking man in sumptuous scarlet robes trimmed with ermine. A giant crown of gold and rubies sat poised atop his head. His dark hair and mustache had gone mostly to silver and Steve would guess him to be nearly sixty, though still handsome, with a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones. His posture was regal, but stiff and unyielding.

On a throne of equal height and proportion, Queen Maria sat to his left. She looked a good number of years younger than her husband, her hair still a lovely dark brown, cascading richly down her shoulders. She wore scarlet robes that matched her husband’s in color, but she seemed to be dripping in jewels, her garments studded with diamonds and pearls. She had large brown eyes and she watched everything politely with a hint of a smile, but it seemed to Steve that perhaps her thoughts were elsewhere. 

And to the King’s right--Steve studied him last--sat the Prince. He favored his mother’s softer features, though perhaps it was just their shared youth. (Steve knew him to be nineteen, just a year younger than Steve.) Clean shaven and dark haired, a heavy crown--though smaller than his parents’--perched awkwardly on his head. Unlike his parents, the prince sprawled indolently across his throne, reclining back into it. His left foot tapped silently, nearly vibrating like a hummingbird’s wings and making his knee shake. He made little effort to conceal his boredom, casting a dismissive glance across the jewels on their little pillows, before looking out the large vaulted windows once more. But occasionally he turned his brown eyes searchingly to the throng of visitors, his expression sharp and curious. 

He was, as Colonel Phillips had promised, quite handsome.

Steve didn’t think he liked him.

Steve cast his eyes down once more.

At last, the herald announced the Blessed Amulet of Kilkary and it was Steve’s cue. Once they finished announcing the bauble, Steve stepped forward and bowed deeply.

“And specially for Prince Anthony, we bring Steven of Eire, son of Grant, son of Roger.”

Steve couldn’t resist; he glanced up from under his lashes as they made his humble announcement. The prince scowled and glanced over at his father.

Steve’s heart sank as he knelt on the bottom step.

For the prince to find him so obviously lacking--and to show it in public!--was a new and unexpected humiliation. His cheeks heated against his will, giving away his embarrassment. (Traitors.)

As he’d been taught, Steve bent forward until his forehead nearly touched the floor, for the count of five, then sat up again. He waited, kneeling on the hard floor at the end of a row of precious treasures.

“Thank you, Good Emissaries of your Good Queen,” King Howard said in a resounding voice. “We thank you for these most generous and gracious gifts. This evening we will present our own humble offerings in return, though with no hope to repay such magnanimity.” 

The words were gracious, Steve recognized, but entirely formulaic. 

It was obviously in the Starks’ power to repay--and exceed--Eire’s gifts tenfold and more. 

Steve hoped they would, and the hope was edged with bitterness. After all he was giving them everything he had: himself. Though clearly the prince didn’t put a very high price on that. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>

“Steven?” a gentle voice said soon after the presentation of gifts. 

Steve held back a sigh. He’d been hoping to linger with the Eiresh ambassadorial party as long as he could, to escape Mannottan notice just a little longer.

“Yes, sir?” Steve said politely. 

(When in doubt, everyone in Mannotan was “sir.”)

“No, no,” the man said smiling and shaking his head. “I’m not a sir, I’m afraid.” 

He had kind eyes and a long pale face, close cropped grey hair and a tall, slim build. Steve realized with a little surprise that the well dressed man was another omega. The omega bowed slightly as he introduced himself: “Edwin Jarvis, master steward of Prince Anthony’s household.” 

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Master Jarvis,” Steve said bowing in return. 

“Oh, please, call me Edwin,” he answered smiling. “Or Jarvis, if you prefer. That’s what To-- the Prince prefers to call me.”

“I see,” Steve said. “Thank you, Edwin.”

“You’ve had a long and tiring journey, no doubt,” Edwin said. “The Eiresh ambassadors have more meetings and later another reception in the great hall, but I thought you might like some time to rest privately and settle into your new quarters.”

Steve smiled gratefully.

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Excellent! Well then, follow me, Steven,” Edwin said, beckoning him down the corridor. “Your things have been sent ahead. And I asked one of the maids to run you a bath.”

“You’re very kind,” Steve said dutifully, but the mention of the bath made his stomach twist. (Can’t give your body to the prince dirty, can you?)

“It is nothing,” Edwin said. “I hope you’ll be very happy here.”

Steve tried to force a polite lie from between his teeth, but apparently Edwin required no false answer. 

He continued: “Once we received word that you would be part of the convoy, the prince asked me to set up appropriate quarters for you. You’re Prince Anthony’s first _amorata_ , so he doesn’t have a formal Bower. I hope the chambers will please you, but don’t hesitate to ask for alterations. This is your home now.”

“Thank you,” Steve said. The words came out stiff and formal against his will. 

“Here we are,” Edwin said opening an ornately carved door bearing the Stark insignia.

Steve froze in the doorway taking in the opulence of the room: richly colored tapestries lined the walls, bright against the wooden beams carved with mille fleurs; thick sheepskins and elaborately patterned rugs covered the marble floor; a huge vaulted fireplace arched high, embellished with decorated beams up to the ceiling, which was also decorated with colored inlays and delicate fluting. A table and set of chairs each inlaid with mother of pearl rested to one side, and a large copper tub--large enough for two--sat, full of steaming water, in the opposite corner. 

A giant canopied bed--posters carved with the Stark insignia and draped with crimson cloths shot through with golden threads--loomed in the corner. 

Steve quickly looked away from it.

His new quarters looked more like Queen Peg’s mead hall than any private chamber Steve had ever imagined. 

“I hope you like it,” Edwin said and Steve hurried inside, feeling a fool for standing about gaping.

“It’s beautiful,” he answered truthfully.

Edwin smiled, closing the door behind him.

“Now then,” he said briskly, “I’ve laid out some refreshments, but you’d best enjoy your bath before the water goes cold.”

Steve nodded. The steward made no move to withdraw; Steve hesitated.

“I thought we might talk while you bathe,” Edwin said, smiling that kind smile again, “if your modesty permits it with an old omega like me.”

“Yes, of course,” Steve said awkwardly, stripping out of his fine new travel clothes. Edwin turned his back until he heard Steve splash into the water. 

Steve held in a moan of pleasure--had he ever had a hot bath like this before, all to himself? Even anxious as he was, his muscles started to go limp with the delicious heat of it and the strange scented oils.

“Hopefully your ambassadors were able to orient you to our customs,” Jarvis said. He took a seat some ways from the tub, allowing a comfortable distance between them. “But I thought now might be a good opportunity for me to answer any questions you have about Manottan. The castle. Anything else that you might wish to inquire about.”

“I think I know what I need to,” Steve said. 

(It was a lie, of course, but he was so overwhelmed he wouldn’t know where to begin his questions. And he didn’t know this man; was he someone Steve should trust?)

“It must all be very strange for you,” Edwin said, “And to be so far from your homeland.”

Steve shrugged.

“The prince no doubt will visit you tonight,” Edwin added gently. “Before then, I thought you might have questions. Perhaps about the royal concubinage? And our customs? I know Eire has some rather different attitudes in this area.” 

Steve’s heart started to race. He should say something, but the words were all a tangle. 

“Of course, you’ve probably spoken to Eireish o’s about such relations,” Edwin said in that same patient voice, then added with a self-deprecating smile, “But perhaps this old omega could be of help to you? Answer any questions?”

“No.” 

The word sounded abrupt and harsh.

Steve took a deep breath; Edwin had been nothing but kind. 

“Thank you,” Steve said awkwardly, trying to smooth his error over with a smile. “I think I know . . . what I need to.” He felt overwhelmed and eager to be alone. “But thank you. I’ll come to you with any questions as they occur to me.”

“I see,” Edwin said. He stood and placed a large thick towel by the tub in Steve’s reach, then drew back with a bow. 

“Then I’ll take my leave,” he said, voice sounding almost sad. “You are most welcome in this household, Steven of Eire. May your days among us be blessed with happiness and joy.”

The master steward bowed again and withdrew before Steve could answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments delightful and adored! Thanks so much for reading! :)


	3. amorata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some challenging and angsty material in this chapter! Please consult the warnings if you have concerns; look after your well being. Decode warnings at rot13.com: vzcresrpg pbafrag / ryrzragf bs fvghngvbany qhopba; vagreanyvmrq fyhg funzvat

After his bath, Steve found that, as promised, his meager personal effects had been delivered. He hurried to change into the finest clothes he’d been given: black cotton hose and a blue brocade doublet with silver thread that Fury had said (gruff and awkward) “matched his eyes” and in which he “didn’t look half bad.” 

Far more comfortable now that he was dressed once more, Steve made his way over to the food Edwin had laid out for him: rich cheeses, ripe fruits, cured meats and thick, crusty bread. The fare was simple, but delicious and Steve felt a pang of guilt to have so much food to himself. It was more than he could eat.

There was wine laid out too. Tempting though it was, Steve knew he’d need all his wits about him. Later.

His appetite suddenly left him at the thought. 

Done eating (and now a little queasy) Steve moved away from the table. But that brought him closer to the bed. 

In the end, he sat on the rug by the fire, his back resolutely to the looming canopied monstrosity.

It did not take long for him to grow bored. And with nothing to distract him, his anxieties ran wild.

He shouldn’t have sent Edwin away.

He should have gotten as much information as he could while he’d had the chance. That was why he was here after all! (Some spy he was making.)

Steve got up and began to pace. He went to the vaulted windows and looked out into a courtyard garden. It was beautiful, even in early april when the first green shoots were barely starting to peer from the brown earth. A fountain stood bubbling in the middle and around it there were geometric patterns of shrubs and topiaries, vibrantly green from the recent rains.

Steve prowled the sumptuous chamber, examining the gorgeous craftsmanship poured into his surroundings. The way the mother of pearl gleamed in the table and wood paneling. The ebony box studded with moonstones. The embroidery on the long curtains. The delicately carved precious stones adorning the goblets. 

The part of Steve that had always longed to be an artisan thrilled at the sight of so much beauty in one place, but the pleasure was tainted by envy at their skill and a scorn for its excess. What fell into neglect so the Starks could enjoy such excessive displays? Who went hungry? Who lacked shelter? What kind of monarchs threw such luxuries away on a mere concubine’s chamber?

Steve snorted. He shouldn’t be so naive. These chambers weren’t really for him, were they?

(Wouldn’t do for the Prince to fuck his concubine in ugly servants quarters, would it? Might mar the experience for him.)

Steve shuddered.

The prince would want to knot him tonight, no doubt. 

(Wouldn’t do to take only some of his new concubine’s virginity after all.)

But Steve had endured pain before--illness, doctors, injuries. He’d be fine.

He wondered if the prince would bite him to trigger a heat. The thought of losing control of himself in a heat was repellent, but perhaps it would be easier that way. To just let it happen. Some omegas said they didn’t even remember their heats, that it was all just a blur…. Perhaps that would be better. 

Steve wasn’t sure.

Usually heats were reserved for a period after first mating, to solidify the relationship and of course to begin a family. 

At least, that was how things were done in Eire. Who knows how they did things in Manottan . . . What if--

Steve buried his face in his hands. 

Deep breath. 

(I’ve got this.)

Breathe in . . . 

(I can do this. I can serve my country.)

And out . . . 

Everything would be fine.

>>>>>>>

Steve lost track of time. It felt like eternity, but he suspected it had only been a couple of hours, when there was a light knock at his door.

Steve’s heart flew into his throat. 

(Was it the Prince?)

Steve stood frozen like a deer still hoping the hunter hasn’t seen him . . . 

There was another soft knock.

Steve doubted the prince would knock like that. (If he knocked at all.). 

Steve cautiously approached the door and could make out soft female voices on the other side. He opened it.

Two pretty girls stood in the hallway. They were dressed in simple, modest white dresses with dark scarlet smocks over the top, their brown hair piled high on their heads.

At the sight of him, they both curtsied. 

“Master Steven of Eire?” one asked.

(Master?)

“Yes?” Steve replied hesitantly.

“We’re from the royal bower,” she said politely. “We’ve been sent to dress you. May we enter?”

“Ah, of course.” Steve stepped aside to let them enter, then shut the door. “But, as you can see, I’m already dressed.”

They exchanged a dubious look. He realized they were carrying little baskets. 

“We brought the traditional garments for a royal  _ amorata _ ’s first night, to dress you,” the taller one explained slowly. Her eyes flicked across Steve’s clothes, and she added uncertainly, “Unless those are traditional to the royal concubines of your homeland . . . ?”

“No,” Steve admitted, though he was tempted to lie. From the relief on their faces though, he’d probably made the politic choice. 

“May we have your permission to touch you?” the shorter one asked.

Steve was surprised by the formality of the question. He nodded, though he didn’t like it. 

At least they treated his clothes with respect as they unlaced and unbuttoned him. Steve stood awkwardly, looking at the arched and vaulted ceiling as they stripped him. 

“What are your names?” Steve asked. They looked startled by the question, but then smiled.

“I am Helena,” said the tall one. 

“And I am called Hermia,” said the smaller one. 

“Nice to meet you, Helena and Hermia,” Steve said. He was trying to figure out what question to ask them, how best to get useful information, when Helena started addressing Hermia in softly uttered Itani, apparently directing her on something related to dressing him.

“Please, Master Steven of Eire,” Hermia said, and he noticed for the first time her slight accent. “Please to kneel by the fire?” 

Steve complied and they removed a pile of fabric that looked like it was spun entirely of silver. (Or moonlight).

As they unfurled it, Steve realized it wasn’t a garment--or no garment he’d seen before--but a long length of cloth. 

Like a winding sheet, Steve thought grimly, with a hint of panic.

“Please to sit up tall?”

The two girls worked efficiently. Starting at his knees they wound the cloth loosely around his thighs, then tighter around his hips and groin--making him blush and fight the urge to squirm away. 

“You may kneel down again, if you like,” Helena said once they’d reached his torso, and Steve leaned down to rest on his heels. 

Occasionally speaking in Itani to one another, the girls continued their work. They tied the cloth into intricate patterns here and there, working their way up his body. The cloth was soft and delicate, sumptuous against his skin. He shivered. 

Helena built up the fire.

Little by little, Steve was covered in the gorgeous fabric as they wound it up, then draped it around his arms and shoulders in some pattern discernible only to them. 

At last they secured the whole thing with an ornate silver pin over his left breast. They nodded with satisfaction at the sight.

“We wish you every joy with our most noble Prince, Master Steven of Eire,” Hermia said, smiling at him.

“May your days together be blessed with pleasure and contentment,” Helena added.

She took a large bundle of rosemary and other herbs from her basket and presented them to him, then tossed the bundle into the fire, filling the air with spice.

The girls began to withdraw, but when they reached the door, Hermia suddenly hurried back over. 

She said in a conspiratorial whisper, with an impish smile, “Don’t worry! The prince will come soon. The banquet was almost over when we were sent to you!”

She clearly thought the reassurance would make him happy. 

It had rather the opposite effect.

>>>>>>>>>>>

Steve had been kneeling by the fire in his new chambers for what seemed like a very long time, Hermia’s reassurance notwithstanding.

But the thick sheepskin was comfortable and he wasn’t exactly eager for the prince to arrive so that was fine. Back home, he would have been cold in the flimsy, gauzy  _ thing _ they’d dressed him in, but it was warmer here and the fire was roaring.

Steve focused on breathing carefully, trying to keep his nerves at bay.

(I’ve got this.)

The minutes slid by. 

Suddenly , the door flew open. There was a loud clattering that made Steve jump, looking up startled at the din. 

The prince had tossed his crown aside, and it rattled heavily on the beautiful inlaid table before going still and silent.

Steve returned his eyes to the floor as the Prince closed the door and sauntered towards him. His heart was racing. 

“Gods! I thought that banquet would never end,” the Prince exclaimed. “They’re usually dull, but this one was truly the worst, knowing you were here waiting for me.”

Steve didn’t quite know what to say to that, so he just murmured a quiet greeting: “Welcome, Your Highness.”

Steve kept his eyes down; even so, he could feel the prince staring at him.

“You are lovely, aren’t you?” the prince said at last. Steve couldn't be entirely sure, but he sounded slightly drunk. “And I hear you’re for me. A gift from Eire.  _ A princely gift _ .”

(Like a thing.)

Steve’s cheeks flamed with humiliation. He didn’t move. 

(I chose this. I did.)

“Is that right?” The prince asked, stepping very near.

“Yes, your highness,” Steve said, carefully keeping his tone light and even. 

(I can serve my country. Like this.)

“And what,” the Prince said, caressing Steve’s cheek gently with a surprisingly calloused hand, “am I to do with you?”

There was something at once playful and predatory to his tone. Steve shivered. 

The Prince plucked the pin from the end of Steve’s wrap and tossed it aside. He took the fabric in his hands and walked in a slow circle around Steve, unwrapping the translucent drapery as he went. 

Step by step the prince revealed Steve’s thin frame and pale skin. Steve could hear the alpha’s breath quicken, could smell his gathering arousal.

“Look at you,” Stark said. “Covered in silver, pale and delicate. So pretty.”

The prince paused in front of him and Steve could see the outline of his cock, already half-hard in his soft leather breeches. Huge and intimidating. (It won’t fit. How can it?). Steve’s heart raced with dread and humiliation.

(I’d happily  _ die  _ for my country, Steve reminded himself. This won’t kill me.) 

The prince had only unwrapped him to his waist when he let the end of the fabric fall; Steve felt a rush of relief that his groin was still covered, but then the prince was leaning down, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder and pushing him back onto the plush sheepskin rug. 

Prince Anthony stretched out beside him and Steve found himself looking into warm brown eyes that were very, very close. Stark reached out to stroke his fingers through Steve’s hair, then across his neck, his collarbone. 

“So, Steven of Eire,” the prince asked again, “what shall I do with you?”

Steve knew what was expected. 

“As you wish, your highness,” he answered softly.

The prince hummed in approval. He propped up on his elbow to look down Steve’s body. 

“Look at all this loveliness,” Stark said. “Look at those pink tits, practically begging to be sucked.”

The vulgar words hit Steve with a burst of shame and something else he couldn’t name.

The prince trailed his hand lower. 

Steve gasped as clever fingers teased his nipples and the prince nestled closer, nuzzling his nose against Steve’s neck and breathing in his scent. A hot, wet tongue flicked at his bonding gland and made Steve twitch.

(Would the prince bite him to trigger a heat after all?)

Then there were kisses trailing down his neck.

“I’m a naturalist and an alchemist, you know,” the prince murmured against his skin. “So I should probably test my theory, don’t you think?”

Before Steve could answer, that hot tongue was tracing his nipple, sucking and biting and-- 

“Oh God,” Steve gasped in shock. 

“Not quite,” the prince said, looking up at him with a smirk. 

The feeling was electric. 

Stark laved at his nipple again--and it felt  _ good _ damn it--but Steve had his dignity. He refused to lean up into the touch.

As the prince stroked his body and kissed and sucked, Steve shivered and felt himself starting to go slick. Stark grinned, clearly able to smell it and Steve closed his eyes tight, willing the humiliation away.

(It’s good to want it, Steve reminded himself. It won’t hurt as much that way.) 

“What do you like?” the prince asked, drawing back a little and smiling at him.

Steve blinked up at him uncertainty. 

He remained silent.

“You really should answer when your prince asks you a question,” Stark said, words imperious but something half teasing in his tone. 

“I hardly know, your highness,” Steve stammered at last, blushing.

The prince’s brow creased. “Oh? Really? They said you were untouched, but people always say that . . .”

“Well I am,” Steve retorted, indignant that Stark would suspect Eire of  _ lying _ about their . . . “gift.”

“I meant no offence,” Stark said, holding a hand up, his tone apologetic. 

Steve huffed and the prince looked pleased. 

The prince looked him up and down again with greedy eyes. 

“So, I’m truly the first to see you like this?” Stark asked. “To touch you?”

“Yes,” Steve said roughly, then added, “your highness.”

Stark’s grin turned wolfish again. “Lucky me.”

The prince leaned up and pressed his lips to Steve’s. It felt a little odd, not the swooping, singing feeling that Steve expected from songs. But then again this was hardly a love match so ---

His lips parted a little and then Stark’s tongue was pressing into his mouth. It was odd, wet and hot, and then--

( _ Oh! _ )

That was . . . that was  _ good _ .

Steve felt another little rush of slick between his thighs.

Steve tried to kiss back, disgraced by the idea he was just lying there like a lump, some passive object to be  _ done to _ and  _ used _ .

The prince seemed pleased by it; he moaned into Steve’s mouth and shifted closer. Steve could feel the prince’s hard cock against his thigh, rutting as they kissed, and Steve realized he was growing hard as well. 

“You smell amazing,” the prince murmured roughly against his throat, hand stroking Steve’s body. “Intoxicating.” 

Stark’s fingers played through his hair as they kissed. Steve tried to make it good, to do what the prince did--moving his tongue, exploring. But Steve expected the prince to get bored with kissing at any moment. 

He didn’t. 

He seemed content to play with Steve’s hair, stroke his body, and kiss him on and on. 

It was nice, actually. Very nice. 

But it was making Steve restless. . . Restless and itching for something . . . 

There was a growing ache in Steve’s body, a sort of empty clutching sensation, as if having the prince’s tongue in his mouth were awaking a hunger to be  _ filled  _ elsewhere. 

Stark’s fingers twisted Steve’s nipple, making him gasp and drawing out another pulse of slick.

“I want to see you,” Stark said abruptly. He sat up and yanked roughly at the remainders of Steve’s wrap, jerking it free, careless of the delicate fabric.

Steve’s cock was hard now, leaking against his belly, and his thighs glistened with slick.

The prince stared at him; he licked his lips.

What a picture he must present, Steve thought with a swoop of shame. Lying there, debauched and all but begging for it. 

(Like a slut. A hot little whore.)

Instead of chilling him, though, the realization left Steve shamed, but still hot. Flushed and breathless, helpless in the Prince’s sight.

Gentle hands stroked up and down his legs. Caressed his hip bones. 

“Lovely,” the prince murmured.

The prince was still fully clothed in velvet and leather, gold and rubies. It made Steve feel twice as naked. Doubly exposed. He shivered.

The prince parted his thighs with strong hands, pressing them wide so Stark could see his cock, his wet and quivering hole. Steve was panting and flushed, fear and lust twisting in his stomach in a confused mess.

Stark bent down abruptly and licked Steve’s cock from root to tip, then took it in his mouth. Steve cried out and his hips bucked up for a moment until the prince slammed them down with a strong hand, holding him pinned.

Steve whimpered and gasped as the prince began to suck, dragging his mouth up and down Steve’s leaking shaft. It felt good, so good, even through the shock of it. That anyone would do that. (That  _ the prince _ would do that.)

The warm wet drag on his cock was intoxicating. 

Steve felt hungry and aching, flushed and burning.

When two fingers teased at his leaking hole, Steve moaned and canted his hips. 

(Whore.) 

The prince hummed with approval, still sucking his cock. 

Steve pushed back onto the two fingers, fucking himself on them as much as the prince would allow. 

(Desperate as a bitch in heat, but you’re not even in heat, are you, you slut?)

Steve shuddered.

(Just aching for something to stuff up your greedy hole.)

Stark released his cock and slid his fingers from Steve’s aching body. Part of Steve wanted to protest, to beg him not to stop, but he couldn’t find the words and then the Prince was unlacing his breeches.

“I’m going to fuck you now, gorgeous,” the Prince promised, his voice rough with lust. “And knot you and fill you up while you beg me for more.”

Steve felt like he’d been doused in ice water. 

Stark’s cock was thick and hard, huge as Steve had suspected--nothing like two slim fingers. The prince pumped his hand up it, once, twice, and it grew impossibly bigger. Steve could see the beginnings of a large knot at the bottom.

Steve felt a sharp jolt of fear as Stark settled between his thighs and laid on top of him. Steve closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, bracing for the first thrust, the pain. To be split open. 

Nothing happened.

The prince pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and light fingers brushed a tear from his cheek. 

“Don’t be nervous,” the prince said. “I’ll take care of you.” 

Another tear joined the first; Steve’s breath hitched. 

“Steven?”

Steve looked up into the warm brown eyes peering down at him with confusion. Steve knew he should say something, but he couldn’t find the words.

(Pathetic. Get it together.) 

“Are you . . . ?” The prince trailed off uncertainly, expression turning concerned. 

Another tear spilled down Steve’s cheek as he struggled to say something. 

A tremor shot through his body. 

Stark’s face went tight. 

“They said you chose this,” the prince said, voice rough, “but if they lied--”

The prince started to pull away; he looked angry. 

(Shit!)

“I did,” Steve blurted.

Steve reached up to grab the prince’s doublet. (I can’t fail.)

“I do,” Steve added and pulled Stark down for another kiss.

(And it felt easier now, somehow.) 

When he drew back, the prince was looking at him strangely. 

Steve realized he’d better give some explanation. 

“It’s just--” Steve stammered. “I’ve never . . .”

The storm cleared from Stark’s expression and he kissed Steve again, stroking his hair.

“I’ll take care of you,” Stark promised again with a smile. “Don’t worry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really really hope you like this! Any musings, curiosity, favorite moments? (I'm a bit out of my comfort zone, so I'd be extra glad to hear from you here...) 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! More coming very soon. <3


	4. the key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for joining me for this strange little niche fic! 
> 
> spoilerish warnings (copy and paste at rot13.com) : Gbal qbrfa'g xabj gung Fgrir'f pbafrag vf yrff guna jubyrurnegrq; Fgrir'f pbafrag unf orra fbzrjung pbreprq naq znavchyngrq (abg ol Gbal), gubhtu ur uvzfrys vafvfgf ur'f univat frk bs uvf bja serr jvyy; nyfb noyrvfg zragvbaf bs vasregvyvgl; zvfhaqrefgnaqvat gung znxrf Fgrir srry rafynirq, gubhtu ur vfa'g.

Steve pulled the prince down for another kiss. 

Somehow it felt . . . easier now.

The prince’s kisses were soft. Delicate. But as Steve welcomed him in, kissing him deeply, Stark’s kisses grew more passionate. 

Steve ran his fingers through Prince Anthony’s hair, noticing the way it felt under his fingertips, the way his touch made the prince murmur in pleasure.

They laid together, kissing on the sheepskin before the fire. 

It turned out Steve really liked kissing. 

And so did the prince apparently. And he liked to stroke his hands through Steve’s hair and down along his neck. 

Steve’s previous ardor slowly returned as they kissed on and on.

Eventually Steve started to shift restlessly, his hips twitching. 

(Slut.)

“Better?” the prince asked softly.

Steve swallowed thickly and pushed his nerves at bay. He nodded and Stark smiled. 

Then he reached down to twist Steve’s nipple. 

Steve gasped and arched; his cock was hard once more. 

“You like that, don’t you?” the prince asked with a grin. 

Steve gave another tight nod. 

The prince did it again.

Steve bit back a moan. 

“You’re lovely,” the prince told him. “And you’re mine now; I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”

Steve let himself arch up into the prince’s touch. 

“Ah!” Steve cried out as the prince flicked his nipple.

“Do you like that?”

“Guh . . .” 

Steve rolled his hips up, wanting friction against his cock. 

(Greedy slut.)

“Is this what you want?” the prince asked, nuzzling his neck. “Want me to play with your gorgeous tits?”

Steve gasped, the sensations and the vulgarity hitting him strangely.

Slick spilled down Steve’s thighs in a hot rush. Stark moaned at the scent of it and his own aroma went sharp and pungent with lust. Steve breathed it in.

The prince stroked his hand down Steve’s body, tentative fingers lightly caressing Steve’s hard and leaking prick. Steve’s hips jerked into the touch, and Stark gave him a few firm strokes before his questing fingers dropped lower to tease at Steve’s opening. Steve bit back a moan as another pulse of slick spilled from his hole. 

Stark stroked his damp thighs and trailed a finger over his opening--through the fresh slick--then up across his cock.

“Is that what you want?” the prince asked in a rough voice, hot breath against his neck. 

Steve whined and rolled his hips. He turned to kiss the prince, open mouthed and sloppy until they were both out of breath.

“Want me to fill you up?” the prince asked, panting. 

Steve threw his head back, exposing his throat.

“Do you want me to  _ fuck you _ ?”

He was empty and aching and he wanted . . . (You can do this; it’s good to want it.). 

Steve answered the prince with a tight little nod, barely a movement.

“You have to say it,” the Prince prompted, licking his throat. “I want to hear it.”

Steve swallowed roughly. He licked his lips and tried to force words out. 

“Please . . .” Steve murmured.

“Say it,” the prince commanded. “What do you want?”

Steve’s heart was racing so fast he thought it might nearly burst; his cheeks flamed. 

“Take me,” Steve whispered brokenly, spreading his legs wide.

“ _ Yes _ .”

The prince reached fumblingly down between them. He stroked Steve’s dick and then positioned himself. 

A hard, blunt pressure nudged at Steve’s entrance--the Prince’s cock. 

And he wanted it now. 

It shocked him, but he did.

(Slut.)

Steve rocked back and the head slid past his first barrier, making him cry out as the prince moaned against his neck. Stark sank in deeper still and it felt glorious, the slick wide stretch of it. Not the agony Steve had expected and feared.

“Ah!”

Stark seized his mouth in a hot wet kiss and laid very still, cock deep inside him. He plundered Steve’s mouth, tongue heavy and demanding. 

“So hot,” the prince panted. “So tight!” 

Stark stroked his tongue across Steve’s throat until Steve trembled.

“Gods,” Stark rasped, “you feel so good.”

Finally, Stark pulled his hips back, long and slow, then pushed inside Steve’s body once more. 

“Ah!”

“Fuck,” Stark gasped. “You take me so well.”

The prince pulled back and slid home again. 

“Ah, fuck,” the prince moaned. 

He thrust again, with a bit more force. He pinched Steve’s nipple and Steve quivered and clenched around him. 

“Yes, fuck,” Stark moaned. “Do you like that? Want me to abuse your tits while I fuck you?”

“Please,” Steve begged, heat coursing through his body. He arched up off the sheepskin. The prince tugged at one nipple then the other, as he thrust into Steve’s slick, clenching heat.

“You’re so sweet,” Stark said, “Shy and trembling, but now look at you? Loving it, opening up for me so good, taking me so deep.”

“Ah!”

It was glorious; hot wet perfect. 

The prince fucked into his body, pulling back then slamming in once more as Steve arched to meet him--slow, then faster, then slower again. 

Stark’s rhythm would speed with Steve’s eagerness, then he’d pause abruptly panting against Steve’s neck, before starting up again.

But Steve still wanted . . . something. 

Something more. 

Steve had always heard people say “knot-hungry” and thought it was absurd--how could anybody actually  _ want _ that kind of invasion, to be stretched out, forced all wide and open, to have some alpha’s body locked in theirs, holding them prisoner. 

But as he pressed back against the prince’s cock, wanton and moaning, there was something empty and aching inside him and he  _ felt it _ . 

(Knot-hungry whore.)

The prince thrust in again. He licked and kissed Steve’s neck.

Steve pressed back against his cock, urging him deeper. His fingers scrabbled desperately into the sheepskin.

(Beg for his knot, you slut. Tell him you want it.)

“Please . . .” Steve gasped. 

“What do you want?” the prince asked, slamming home again, deep inside him. 

“Please . . .”

“Do you want my knot? Want me to take you all the way?”

“Please!”

Stark thrust in hard and bit down on his neck just above his bonding gland. It made Steve tremble.

“Beg,” Stark growled in Steve’s ear. “Tell me what you want.”

“Knot,” Steve gasped, the hot pulse of lust pushing his fear away. “ _ Please _ .”

“Yeah,” Stark groaned. “I’ll fucking  _ ravish  _ you. Own your tight hole and fill you up over and over until all you want is my knot in your body and my name on your lips.”

Steve moaned.

The prince reached a hand between them, coating it with Steve’s slick, then brought it around to pump Steve’s cock. 

“Ah!” 

Steve threw his head back, wailing in pleasure as Stark jerked his cock, hard and sweet, in time with the thrust of his dick, moving in and out of Steve’s body.

“Please!” 

“Go on,” Stark growled. “Come for me, gorgeous. Let go.” 

Steve panted desperately and rocked back on the prince’s dick, needing . . . needing . . . 

Stark bit Steve’s nipple and he came, spurting hot cum over the prince’s hand as he trembled in a wave of ecstasy. He was still shaking with it, the pleasure crashing over him in sharp waves, body clenching and pulsing, when he felt Stark’s knot pushing against his swollen channel and--

“Ah!”

Pain mingled with pleasure as he was breached again, pierced and taken fully. Steve cried out. Stark’s thrusts were shallow now, but so deep it left him dizzy and breathless. 

“So good, beautiful, fuck,” Stark chanted into his ear. “Take it, take it, take my knot, take it, beautiful . . .”

It hurt, but there was pleasure there too: the swollen fullness, the depth of sensation, as the prince fucked his knot into Steve’s body, rocking in almost gently. 

Steve clenched down and Stark’s entire body went stiff, the knot swelling. Steve thought he could feel the seed pouring into his body, thick hot spurts held inside him as the knot locked them together. 

They shuddered, still panting and gasping in unison. 

Little by little, Steve’s heart began to slow.

Steve blinked.

It was suddenly very cold.

Steve felt tired and rung out, the prince a heavy weight on top of him. The gold and ruby studs of Stark’s doublet pressed uncomfortably against Steve’s bare skin. They’d probably leave marks. 

(It’s done.)

Steve laid very still. 

The prince’s body was still locked in his and his own spunk was cooling across his stomach between them. The prince’s doublet would be dirty with it. 

The shame crept in slowly and with it the queasy churning in his guts. 

(You liked it. You begged.)

Steve shuddered. 

(Whore.)

Steve turned his face away to stare at the glowing embers in the hearth; the fire needed another log soon or it would go cold.

The prince shifted slightly on top of him. The movement sent a jolt through Steve’s body and made him clench and quiver around the prince’s knot.

The prince licked and kissed at his neck, nuzzling the tender flesh.

“Beautiful. You’re so lovely,” the prince murmured, kissing him and stroking his hair. “You feel so good.”

Steve flushed, oddly pleased by the praise and shamed by his pleasure.

(That’s the point, Steve reminded himself harshly. Be good, make sure he likes it, keeps you near.)

“Gorgeous,” the prince murmured, laving at Steve’s exposed bonding gland. 

Even heated with shame, there was something oddly soothing about it; Steve made no objection. 

“I had no idea,” the prince whispered in something like awe. 

That got Steve’s attention. He turned towards the alpha. 

“I . . .” Steve began. He licked his lips. “I thought you were  _ experienced _ .”

The prince huffed. 

“I am!” he retorted haughtily. “I’ve lain with many betas, both men and women.” 

He paused then admitted, a little more softly, “But you’re the first omega.”

Steve’s surprise must have shown, because the prince went on to explain: “Omegas are rare here and very attractive as spouses, much courted. They’d have little incentive to seek rank as royal concubines. Besides,” the prince continued, as if reciting another’s words, “omegas’ great fertility makes them less than ideal concubines; illegitimate offspring muddy royal bloodlines.”

Steve swallowed thickly and turned his face back to the fire.

“They said,” the prince began softly, “they said a great fever burnt out your womb when you were young.”

Steve’s cheeks flamed and his heart began to pound angrily in his chest. (How DARE he?)

“I’m sorry,” the prince went on. “Is that why you chose to--”

“Don’t--” Steve hissed, rage scattering his thoughts. “ _ Don’t _ \-- Just--  _ That _ . It’s private!”

The prince raised an eyebrow.

“My knot is still lodged inside you.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Steve snapped, turning his face back to the fire once more. “Some things are still private. You don’t--”

(--own me.)

Well, that was technically true, but Steve wasn’t sure how much the distinction mattered. 

“I’m sorry,” the prince said simply. “I didn’t mean to cause you pain.”

Steve glanced back over at him. Stark looked truly apologetic, his brown eyes wide and his brow furrowed. Steve nodded sharply. Stark smiled at him for a moment, then his brow furrowed again.

“Did it hurt?” the prince asked hesitantly. “You didn’t seem pained, but I’ve heard for some o’s it’s near anguish. Taking the first knot.” 

Steve wasn’t sure how to answer. He was still ordering his thoughts when the prince rushed on.

“Jarvis brought a special draught for you--spiced mead laced with drugs to dull the pain,” the prince looked over to the sideboard with a frown. “I should have brought it nearer, uh,  _ before _ . I can fetch it in a few minutes if you’re hurt.”

“I--” Steve licked his lips. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Oh?” The prince smiled, clearly pleased and a little relieved. “I’m glad. I, uh, tried to . . .  _ carefully _ . And after you. So it wouldn’t hurt as much.”

Steve looked up at the prince curiously. This awkward, anxious youth hardly seemed the cavalier princeling who’d tossed his crown aside and pushed Steve back into the rug.

Steve reached up curiously to caress the prince’s smooth cheek. Stark leaned into the touch and kissed Steve’s palm.

Steve blinked, surprised by the open tenderness of the gesture, and then the prince was leaning down, pressing his mouth to Steve’s for long languorous kisses. 

The pressure in Steve’s channel slowly eased and at last he felt the prince slip free of his body. He winced, insides feeling soft and tender.

“I’d best build up the fire,” Stark said, pulling away with a last kiss.

Stark threw several large logs onto the embers, making them spark and hiss. It was odd to watch him tend the fire, still fully dressed with his spent cock hanging from his unlaced breeches. 

“Wine?” the prince offered, crossing the room and picking up the decanter. Steve nodded.

“Thank you.”

Stark brought him a silver goblet set with onyx and garnets. Steve’s distorted reflection gazed back at him as he took a sip. 

Stark tossed him a blanket and a damp rag Steve used to wipe the mess from his stomach and thighs (and . . .). 

The price began to strip, throwing the gold and ruby studded doublet carelessly to the flagstones. Steve watched him curiously. 

“Like what you see?” the prince asked playfully flexing his muscles.

“Yes,” Steve admitted. 

It was true: the prince was lovely, well built and muscular, with a rich expanse of smooth olive skin. And, unlike Steve, he seemed very comfortable on display, naked . . .

“Oh!” Stark exclaimed suddenly, as he finished stripping out of his breeches. “I nearly forgot. I’ve got a present for you.”

“A present?”

“Of course!” Stark answered, digging in the ebony and moonstone box on the desk. “Red and gold are the royal colors, but after seeing you at the reception line this morning I asked them to add a sapphire. It’s the color of Eire, after all. And, well, I thought it would match your eyes. Here!”

It was a collar: thick, elaborately wrought, with precious jewels and leather padding. 

And a lock at the back.

Steve’s stomach heaved. 

“Here,” the prince said, kneeling behind him, “let me put it on you.”

Steve bowed his head to hide his face. He could feel the telltale prickling in his eyes, but he refused to cry damn it. He took a long even breath. (I chose this. I did. I can serve my country.) Another long breath.

“There!” the prince said with satisfaction. “Beautiful. There’s a mirror around here somewhere if you’d like to--”

(No, no, no, no, no . . . )

Steve shook his head, swallowing back bile. 

“Sure, later,” the prince said, pulling Steve into his arms. He settled Steve on his lap and gathered the blanket up around them. He began nuzzling Steve’s neck right above the collar. 

“This marks you as mine,” the prince said. “It bears the royal insignia at the back. Nobody is allowed to touch you now but me--well, no alphas or betas, that is. In theory, I think you can even ask me to cut off the hand of anyone who dares, but, well, we don’t tend to be strict about that sort of thing unless, of course, they were trying to hurt you in which case, yes  _ obviously _ I would. Now just one more thing . . . ”

The prince pushed him forward a little, bowing his head down lower, and Steve realized with a burst of panic he was securing the lock in place.

He was going to be sick. He shuddered and tried to suppress a gasp.

“Shall I fetch another blanket?” the prince asked. “Are you still cold?”

Steve shook his head as the nausea roiled through him again.

“There,” the prince said as the lock snapped shut. It was a small noise, but it sounded to Steve like a prison door slamming. 

(What did you expect?)

Steve took a deep breath.

(You can serve. This is an  _ assignment _ .)

Stark was still speaking, but it was as if his words came to Steve across a great distance.

“I asked them to give it extra padding to make it more comfortable, but if it isn’t just let me know. They can always make adjustments,” the prince said. “And of course there are only two keys.”

The prince was reaching for Steve’s hand and dragging his clenched fist open; he pressed something into it. 

“Obviously, nobody else has the right to unlock it,” the prince rambled on, hands stroking absently across Steve’s body, “no more than someone else could separate us. In the old days, if you took the bonding cuff off at any time that would be the end of our association, but that all seems overly dramatic, don’t you think? What if it isn’t very comfortable to sleep in because your neck is hurting? Or you’re bathing and don’t want the leather to get wet and smelly? I mean, if you  _ return it to me _ that’s different. Obviously. But, well let’s not be too formal with the little things, yes?” 

Steve stared, half dazed, at the delicate silver key in his palm. 

The prince was rambling still: “But anyway, there are only two copies, so keep that someplace safe.” The prince snorted. “Jarvis has mine, but it’s honestly safer with him and all the storeroom keys than it would be with me.”

He got a key. 

Steve couldn’t seem to catch his breath and it left him dizzy and reeling. 

“You met Jarvis earlier, didn’t you? He’s the best. Father was always very fond of him, so I’m lucky that he let me take Jarvis for my head steward . . .”

He could unlock it.

Steve’s eyes were prickling again.

(I get a key.)

“. . . so, really, if you need anything, you can always ask Jarvis.” The prince paused. “Or me. But then I’d probably just ask Jarvis to take care of it, so you may get it faster by asking J directly. But you can still ask me.”

As the prince’s prattle washed over him, the evening’s cycles of terror and relief caught up with Steve, leaving him exhausted in ways he’d never imagined possible. Steve began to sag back into the prince’s embrace. 

The prince made a pleased murmur and held Steve tightly in his arms. He placed delicate kisses along Steve’s neck, rocking him very slightly.

Steve shuddered and went limp, pressing his face to the prince’s chest. He hoped Stark couldn’t wouldn’t notice his cheeks were wet again.

“Steven?”

The prince’s voice was warm, but had a current of concern to it.

Steve licked his lips. 

“I--” Steve swallowed. “My own people call me ‘Steve.’” 

“ _ Steve _ .” The prince said the diminutive with pleasure. He stroked his fingers through Steve’s hair. 

“Well,  _ Steve _ ,” he said around a sudden yawn, “it’s been a long day. Are you ready to sleep?”

Steve nodded gratefully. He ordered his exhausted limbs to move, but before they obeyed the prince was already lifting him up and carrying him towards the bed. Steve was surprised when Stark pulled back the blankets and tucked him in, then even more surprised as the prince climbed into bed beside him. 

Steve began to go stiff. (I thought I was allowed to sleep now?) But as Stark wrapped himself around Steve, hugging him close, it seemed he too was settling in for sleep. He pressed his nose against Steve’s neck and licked at his bonding gland again. 

“Good night,  _ mi amorata _ ,” Stark mumbled around a kiss. “Sleep well.”

The fire crackled merrily behind them and Steve could distantly make out the sounds of a lute coming from the courtyard below the casement.

“Good night, your highness,” Steve answered at last in a low whisper.

Exhaustion overtook Steve swiftly; he plunged into the darkness of sleep, small silver key still clenched in his fist.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! If you liked it and would be interested in a sequel (or series) do please let me know! Questions, musings, and reflections are adored and appreciated!
> 
> I had a hard time figuring out what I thought 19 year old Prince Tony would be like, but now that I feel like I've got a handle on him I'm tempted to spend more time with these two...
> 
> Thanks again for joining me! <3

**Author's Note:**

> I love hearing from people who enjoy my writing! It makes me very happy and feeds my muse!


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